Hn
by Pearl3
Summary: A pointless ficclet on a family getting back at the head of the household.


**A/N: XD pointless drabble on a family that knows how to get a lil payback! :D Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Hn. Don't own it.**

**Warning: I usually don't write this because I figure that it's an understated, unwritten courtesy…no flames please! If you don't like the story AT ALL, then click the back button and continue on with your life. There are no benefits to you insulting my writing, nor me dishing out angering responses. CONSTRUCTIVE criticism is ALWAYS welcomed.**

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The group gathered at the table was unusually quite today, even for him. The clanks of chopsticks and silverware against plates echoed back against the farthest walls of the kitchen. Needless to say, it unnerved him.

A lot.

He started off his meal as always: munching on toast, sipping a bit of coffee, and reading the freshly opened newspaper. There was no need to screech and bitch about breakfast anymore, not since he had become part of the family ages and ages ago. Still, he was used to the mind-numbing chatter from his wife and clone-like daughter. His son was usually silent like himself, but he usually offered snips of advice and criticism here and there.

But this particular morning felt off. Nobody was shooting comments and questions at him as he tried to catch up on local news that really never interested him. His wife was quietly cracking eggs on a bowl, flipping pancakes here and there like the expert she had become. Their daughter merely flipped through a magazine—or what he supposed to be a magazine, because his face was buried in the black and white paper—and his son just continued to mix his protein drink, the noisy clatter of the spoon against the glass being the loudest in the kitchen. Humans, he had thought, were probably the loudest creatures he had ever encountered. And now…they were nearly as quiet as Saiya-jins (all of Kakarot's clan excluded).

Bulma came with a plate of scrambled eggs and pancakes, wordlessly setting it before him. Peering over the top of his newspaper, he could see his own spawn shoveling food away, though nothing was said. Soon after, the blue-haired woman sat to his right, taking a swig of coffee while she looked over some blueprints.

Vegeta arched an eyebrow, folding the West City Tribune up and tossing it off to the side. Now annoyed that she hadn't said something like "Bon Appetite!" or "Eat up!", he unfolded his napkin and dumped it on his lap. "Pass the syrup," he ordered, glancing at his teenage daughter. Eyes never straying from her gossip column, she effortlessly grasped the bottle and handed it over to him. "Thanks," came his muttered gratitude, eyeing her warily.

"Hn," she offered, flipping a page.

Oooookay. Bura would almost always bristle and dance around at any offered gratitude or praise he shot her way. Today…not so much. Pushing the thought aside, he flicked the top open, dumping the syrupy goodness on to the flowered flattened staple breakfast food. His stomach growled as his nose picked up the scent of the sugary delight that had always made his morning start off on the right foot before training or jogging. Nearly ready to dig in, he had noticed the lack of salt and pepper on his scrambled eggs. Damn. Offering a slightly darker glare towards his eldest offspring, he demanded that the salt and pepper be passed down.

Trunks said not a word, picking up each seasoning in one hand, passing off one to his mother, the other to his sister, creating a chain to his father. "And the juice," the older man rasped, now tired of his coffee.

"Hn," the lavender-haired minion replied, handing the bottle of juice to his mother, who, in turn, placed it next to Vegeta.

The freakishness of the overtly weird morning was beginning to get under his skin. Never before had he thought mere words to be so important to him. His daughter's chattering about the latest gossip from her prep school, along with her excellent grades, ceased to amuse him as the months rolled by, but nonetheless, they had become part of his daily routine. Trunks' whines and complaints about employees unable to handle simple repairs that even the elder Prince could do with his eyes closed made him chuckle (never you mind that he had contributed a hand in the creation of such projects)…but not today. Hell, even the lack of his wife's incessant screeching, such that he had endured for nearly three decades, were making him feel as if he had entered the twilight zone.

"Onna?" His nickname for her had stuck since day one, rarely able to be replaced by her own given name.

"Hn?"

Vegeta's eye twitched, but he ignored it. "The GR needs a few minor repairs."

"Hn."

"Get to it today, would you?"

"Hn," her answer had been an affirmative by its tone, though it was still vexing.

"Boy, be sure to help your mother. You could use the experience."

Trunks nodded once, finishing off the last swing of his drink, "Hn."

He could take it no more. Being the Prince that he was, he wanted respect, and dammit he was going to get it! Their stupidly lacking answers had rubbed him the wrong way, and there was nothing more that he wanted than to hear an actual response from them. "MY KAMI! What the hell is wrong with you people?"

The well-maintained, tight-lipped facades of his family melted away as his daughter was the first to burst into a lapse of laughter and pointing. "You shoulda seen your face Daddy! It was priceless!" Soon, the other adults in the room joined in her laughter, making Vegeta all the more confused and irritated.

"What's this all about?"

Bulma snatched up the paper, tossing it over to Trunks, who held it up before him much like his father had minutes before. Bura leaned in, swirling around a coffee cup in the same manner that her mother did every morning. "So Vegeta," she chirped, her voice slightly lowered and matured to sound like her mother's. "I hear you're going to Goku's house to train today!"

Trunks rattled the paper the little, straightening out the crease that normally kept Vegeta from reading the next line well. "Hn," he grunted, sounding very much like his older parental unit.

"Going to be out late?"

"Hn."

"Back in time for lunch?"

"Hn."

Vegeta felt his cheeks flare up, embarrassment hitting him like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The laughter immediately turned on again, though Trunks kept his face behind the newspaper, knowing that he was more likely to get the brunt of his father's anger than the women of the house were. Still, the Prince picked up Bura's teen magazine, flinging it over to the other end of the table, much like a Frisbee. It went through the newspaper effortlessly, slapping Trunks squarely in the forehead. He nursed his wound, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes from the massive paper cut.

"Alright, I've learned my lesson. Maybe I'll be more inclined to actually answer you all from now on," he stated, finally able to satiate his hunger with a scoopful of eggs. Bulma giggled, standing from her seat to place a small kiss on his cheek. "Now, would you please fix the GR?"

"Hn," she responded, a smirk flashing across her face.

"WOMAN!"

The three tricksters' laughter echoed throughout the bottom floor of their home.

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**I originially wrote this 2 years ago! I can't believe I ever forgot to post this..shame on me. Haha, well I'm finishing up the next chapter to "Savin' Me", so don't be surprised if it shows up within the next 2 weeks! Read and Review please!**

**Ja Ne!**


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